In India, someone told me that certain swamis, especially in
the Jain religion, practice their unattachment by never staying in one place
more than three days. I thought it hypocritical. Certainly, no one can become
attached to anything or anyone in just three days. The real challenge is in creating
relationships and then leaving.
On the taxi ride from Cool Residence to Phuket International
Airport I recalled the swamis and contemplated, once more, my hypocrisy.
After all, I also had a non-attachment rule: not staying anywhere for more than
a year. And, because I had broken it, I was deeply sad. My eyes filled with
tears when I said goodbye to Pooh and Pu, my landlords; I sobbed while passing
the roads that had become so familiar and would one day turn into a mingle of
flashing pictures in my memory; and I cried out of frustration, lost dreams,
lack of love, and pain that would flourish into light someday.
When I sat inside the plane my heart still hurt, but I was
done. I was ready to leave. Up in the air I looked through the window and I saw
Phuket, so hazy in the sunset light. I saw its green, soft hills, the contour
of the coast, the thin border of sand before the infinite blueness. Its sight
had filled me with enthusiasm in my first flight into the island.
The much dreaded hours of flights went by easily. I did not
sleep almost at all and was able to catch up with all the movies that I had
missed in a year of not going to the theaters. I finally landed in a white city
that I knew well. And I cried again. I could have kissed the ground or the
immigration officer as happy as I was about being back.
Being everywhere and nowhere. Being impermanent.
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